


Donor Number 05288423

by Amymel86



Series: unconventional [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Jon and Sansa Are Not Related, donor baby, jon and sansa don't know each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-03-30 03:06:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19033495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amymel86/pseuds/Amymel86
Summary: You know that feeling when you’ve been agonising over a decision for some time -and when you finally(finally)decide to make your move one way or another, you’re instantly convinced that you’ve fucked up monumentally and you want to rewind time and slap past-you for evencontemplatingmaking that decision?Yeah.That.Sansa was feeling that right now as she stared at her phone in her shaking hand.Fuck.Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity-fuck.Why did she just do that?! Why, in the name of all things holy… or unholy, for that matter, did she just make contact with the father of her baby?!





	Donor Number 05288423

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Titania_Queen_of_the_Fairies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Titania_Queen_of_the_Fairies/gifts).



> So I'm writing what just cheers me up these days since I'm in a funk after s8. There may be no rhyme or reason to what I write - just to make myself happy :)
> 
> This one is a continuation on 'chosen' - I'm not sure if I'll write more or how in depth it'll be if I do, I just fancied expanding on this one a little.
> 
> Gifted to Tanya for being a lovely person.

You know that feeling when you’ve been agonising over a decision for some time -and when you finally ( _finally_ ) decide to make your move one way or another, you’re instantly convinced that you’ve fucked up monumentally and you want to rewind time and slap past-you for even contemplating making that decision?

Yeah. _That._

Sansa was feeling that right now as she stared at her phone in her shaking hand.

_Fuck._

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity-fuck._

Why did she just do that?! _Why,_ in the name of all things holy… or unholy, for that matter, did she just make contact with the father of her baby?! What had she even _said?_ She can’t remember. _Oh Gods!_ She probably rambled. Did she get everything out before the answerphone beeped? Did she even tell him who she was? Did she leave a contact number? Would it be a good thing if she hadn’t?

She should have just left her knowledge of the sperm donor at simply ‘donor number 05288423’ – Sansa is good at memorising numbers. He could’ve just stayed that bunch of numbers. But _nooo._

This is ridiculous.

The whole reason Sansa picked a donor who had indicated that they were happy to receive contact was for her future child’s benefit only. Yes, she was using a sperm bank because her hope in the male population has dwindled down to an inconceivably small amount, but that didn’t mean that her child shouldn’t know where half their chromosomes came from should they want to.

So why-o-why did she request donor number 05288423’s contact details _before the baby was even born?!_ Why did she do that?

Everything was fine with him just being an anonymous sequence of numbers who had no concerning family medical history, a high IQ, peak physical fitness, dark hair, grey eyes who works in humanitarian aid. But now? Now he’s _Jon Snow!_ He’s a long list of phone numbers, a few email addresses, and because Sansa is her own worst enemy, and because it’s just too _Gods-damned easy_ to google anyone these days; he’s a _face_ – a face that Sansa has stared at on her computer screen for far too long.

He looks kind, Sansa decides. Maybe a little serious. There’s only a few photos of him smiling. But _heavens!_ Is he handsome!

Sansa found herself staring at those lips of his, wondering if their baby would inherit that adorable looking pout.

_For the love of lemoncakes!_

She’d slammed her laptop closed at the mere thought, her hand going to her swelling belly. This is not _‘their’_ baby. This is _Sansa’s_ baby.

That was it, wasn’t it? That’s why she contacted him. Because, despite being utterly convinced that she is fine doing this whole parenting thing alone, she can’t seem to squash that desire inside for that old-fashioned love. Love that is strong and unbroken even when battered and beaten. Love that is exciting even when it’s quiet and still. Love like her parents have. Love that filled a house with laughter and children.

She’d packed all those thoughts away as soon as they were exposed; squashing them down and putting a lid on them. Then putting a padlock on that lid. Then dumping the padlocked thoughts into the ocean.

 _This_ is the path she chose. She will get that love from her child and she will give it too. She’ll give it, and she’ll give it and she’ll give even more because there will be _nothing_ that Sansa Stark’s child will be left wanting for. Sansa has _so much_ love to give this baby; enough for a mother _and_ a father.

Sansa Stark’s child _does not_ need donor number 05288423.

Her phone began to buzz in her hand, and as she looked down to the caller ID, her heart skipped all the way up to her throat.

_Jon Snow._

_Shit!_

***

Sansa’s heart seemed to want to escape her chest as she took the last few steps leading up to the entrance of the diner. This is it. This is where she’s meeting _him._

She still doesn’t know why she’s meeting him. Not really. Only that _something_ in her wants to. It must be something to do with her jumbled-up hormones.

Her head, on the other hand, has been yelling at those jumbled-up hormones ever since she spoke to Jon on the phone. What if he turns out to be a complete psycho? What if he starts trying to be a father to _her_ baby and Sansa doesn’t want him to be? What if she starts projecting some feelings onto donor number 05288423 because there is a little person growing inside of her that is genetically half him and deep down (like waaay deep down) she’d love to have that traditional family set up?

What if? What if? What if?

What if this baby can stop giving her heartburn so she doesn’t have to gulp milk of magnesia like it’s a Gods-damned milkshake?!

Sansa reached into her large handbag to retrieve her bottle to sooth the acid rising up her throat. She tugged at her clothes. Nothing fit anymore of course, but she’d treated herself to a dove grey maternity pencil skirt that had a wide elasticated waist band and a new soft cream cashmere sweater. It’s a shame that she can’t wear heels so much anymore, but with her feet getting all swollen and sore she thought it best to stick to cute ballet flats.

Fishing around in her enormous bag for her compact mirror and berry red lipstick, Sansa did briefly acknowledge that she shouldn’t be fussing over her appearance as much as she was – _this wasn’t a date for Gods sake_ – but here she is, heart all a-flutter as she smacks her red lips together nevertheless.

It didn’t take long to spot him when she entered. He was sat at a booth with red leatherette seating, bouncing a leg up and down as he seemed to be fiddling with a napkin. And _oof,_ he was even more handsome in person. Sansa clenched her jaw and willed her pesky hormones and fanciful thoughts to please behave before plastering a smile on her face.

“Hello, Jon,” she offered as she neared his table. The man in question had stood and was seemingly having difficulties deciding if he wanted to talk to her face or her belly.

“Uh. Hi,” he stammered, offering a hand to shake before his fingers curl back a little as though he was afraid that had been the wrong move. Sansa reached out to take his hand and shook it with a bright smile. Jon is looking at her a little weirdly, like she’s something he’s never ever seen before. “Um, can I get you anything?” he asks, seemingly coming back to his senses and gesturing to the booth for her to take a seat. “Coffee? Tea?”

“A lemonade please,” Sansa answers, sliding her bag and then her butt along the red leatherette seating. “I have to watch how much caffeine I have,” she places a hand on her tummy and Jon eyes the gesture with a lick of his lips.

“Oh. Yeah. Yes, of course,” he nods before going over to the woman behind the counter and ordering Sansa her drink to be brought over.

She watches as he slides back into his own seat across from her. “So, um…” Jon blinks and wets his lips yet again, his grey eyes flitting down to the swell of her stomach and then back up to her face.

Sansa blinks back. Unsure of what to say. “Uh,” she laughs a little nervously. This is easily the weirdest and most awkward situation she’s ever been in. Unfortunately for her, Jon decides to take a fortifying gulp of the coffee he’s been drinking before she arrived at exactly the same time as she’d tried to ease the tension with humour. “Thanks for the sperm?” she ventures jokingly, causing Jon to cough and splutter and coffee to come out of his nose.

She should’ve known not to try to be funny. It’s all about the timing.

**Author's Note:**

> I know this kind of cuts off before anything 'good' happens but I think if I continue this it'll just be little vignettes into jon and sansa's growing relationship instead of a fully fledged fic. Hopefully you enjoyed this anyway... fingers crossed!


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